I was trying to decide what to post next when I considered these portraits of Wayne Newton, Elvis, and Tom Jones. (I painted them a few years back from a collection of bargain-bin CDs that I own; I found the indistinguishably cheesy poses irresistible, and wanted to see them hanging on the wall as a series.) Interestingly enough, as I was looking up Wayne Newton online just now - searching for fact-based tidbits to add to this post - I saw where his birthday is April 3rd. That sealed the deal; fate has me featuring "Mr. Vegas" on this date! I'm not actually a fan of Wayne Newton's (I'm more oddly bemused than bewitched by his surreal persona) but, despite personally finding his STARDUST character and enormous popularity a tad disconcerting, I have to respect the man's work ethic... in 1994 he performed his 25,000th solo show in Vegas! I remember seeing him on The Jackie Gleason show back in 1964 when I was five; I was lying on my Nana Abend's naphthalene scented oriental rug in Germantown, Pennsylvania, sipping a Shirley Temple (along side her two Pekinese dogs Shecky and Chingy) when I first heard him sing "Danke Schoen." As a little girl, I was transfixed and confused by the girlish voice coming out of this man; I have such a strong association with that first experience of hearing his strange voice in my Nana's apartment that, to this day, I still smell mothballs whenever I hear him sing.
At 13 I purchased an Elvis three record set from a television ad; the first album featured his early Sun years (before "the fever" had set in), the second album contained his most popular hits (after "the fever" had taken hold), and the third featured his Vegas years (when " the fever" had started taking its toll).
In the seventies, my Nana Abend left Germantown for good, and moved in with our family until she passed away. She never missed a single "Tom Jones Show" episode; at 92 years old, she swooned at the gyration of his hips and was captivated by "how he could sweat." She was as hypnotized as the young ladies in the audience who tossed their unmentionables on stage; she was as in love with Tom Jones at 92 as I was confused by Wayne Newton at 5.
*these paintings each measure 18"x24"
2 comments:
Funny story about Wayne Newton...reminds me about how I felt watching Little Richard on the Merv Griffin show....he looked so feminine to me and yet....creepy.
Good for your nana!
We make so many assumptions about what it means to be so much older, probably none of them accurate.
I feel the mental version of a physical tickle, self-imposed more than threateningly delivered from my older brother once upon a time, whenever I hear the term "unmentionables." Surely a more mysterious while utterly unsubtle term has not yet replaced it. What is this word that only means one thing--that thing which cannot be uttered in proper company? So we have this word to use instead. We are funny, odd beings. Some might say queer. That's my whole conclusion to this rambling comment.
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